


Here`s To Us

by jesvisfarovche



Series: Sous Le Ciel De Paris [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (perhaps too amicable), Amicable Exes, Courfeyrac has a lot of feelings, Dancing, M/M, alcohol consumption, gossiping, hints of mutual pining, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 14:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16976211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesvisfarovche/pseuds/jesvisfarovche
Summary: “You can trust me”, Jehan says in a low voice. He sounds almost sober now, “You know I can keep a secret.”It's true. Courfeyrac knows.“Come on! I’ll buy you a drink.”“Not here, though. The booze here is thin like that lace shirt of yours.”“I threw it away. No need to remind me,” says Jehan, scoffing, “Tell me and we'll go elsewhere.”In which Courfeyrac and Jehan  go on a night out full of drinking, dancing and some interesting revelations.A/N: This is a sequel to After Hours and Something To Tell You (both focused on Enjoltaire), but it can be read as a one-shot.





	Here`s To Us

It is a lousy night in every sense of the word. The bar is almost empty, the music is bland and the drinks taste like water. Courfeyrac makes a mental note to never come here again. He would’ve left a long time ago, but this is a special occasion. He’s here to support a friend. Said friend is currently getting ready to go onstage for some poetry reading. His long pale fingers grasp an old lilac notebook. Even though he`s sitting a few meters away, Courfeyrac can see Jehan trembling.

His first impulse is to go and comfort Jehan, but Courfeyrac knows there’s no need for that. Normally, Jehan as quiet and reserved, always speaking in hushed, gentle tone. He looks fragile, almost ethereal. But as soon as he steps onstage and opens up this thick notebook filled with poetry and pressed flowers that he’s had for years – Courfeyrac knows there aren’t many pages left, he’s already bought Jehan a new one, turquoise – everything changes. Jehan speaks loud and clear, his voice full of feeling, of passion. His posture is as perfect as a dancer's, and he looks at the audience unafraid. This is Jehan in his element, in his true form.

Courfeyrac loves those moments.

Jehan finishes his performance. The crowd is thin, but the applause is loud enough to fill the room and make the poet smile. He says goodbye to the audience and steps off the stage. Courfeyrac greets him with a smile and a glass of whiskey – Jehan’s favorite (the guy is full of surprises).

“Brilliant as always”, Courfeyrac gives Jehan a tiny applause of his own and receives a hug in return, “Now tell me, Jehan Prouvaire, when are you going to move to greener pastures? And by that I mean better venues.”

Jehan blushes.

“You know I’m afraid of big crowds. And La Lune Bleu is perfectly fine.”

“It's perfectly stale. You’re so much better than this.”

Jehan sits on a bar chair next to Courfeyrac's and takes a swing of his whiskey.

“I’m just not sure if I’m ready for a new venue.”

“What if we have an open mic night at the Musain?”

Jehan giggles. The whiskey is doing its magic already

“Can you imagine? Enjolras will probably take over the whole thing with one of his speeches.”

“Gentlemen, how can we waste our time with music and comedy and, urgh, _poetry_ when there's so many problems we could address?! First point in my agenda…”, Courfeyrac captures Enjolras's cadence perfectly and Jehan breaks into another giggle fit.

“Oh, _Apollo_ , what is the point in your agenda if life itself is meaningless? We're all just stardust floating aimlessly through the Universe”, says Jehan, making his voice low and breathy like Grantaire’s.

“You forgot to reference the Classics!”

“Damn it!”, Tipsy Jehan is Loud Jehan, ”Here it comes. Hope is a wooden horse and we are stupid Trojans, opening the gates of our hearts! Or some shit like that.”

Both of them burst into full belly laughter, nearly falling off their chairs.

“Oh, I love them, truly, but lately they’ve been unbearable!” Jehan takes a sip from his glass, “Especially Enjolras. He’s got a stuck up his ass!”

That is an unusual thing to hear from Jehan. Courfeyrac giggles.

“I’m serious! Someone’s got to take it out. And replace it with something else!” Jehan nudges Coufeyrac and falls on his shoulder, laughing.

Courfeyrac clears his throat.

“Well, actually…”

Jehan raises his head.

“Yes?”

“I kind of know the reason why Enjolras has been _like this_ lately.”

Jehan suddenly sobers up.

“Tell me more right now!”

“It's not my secret to tell.”

“I won’t tell a living soul.”

“What about dead souls?”

“Courfeyrac!”

“You Romantics are so unpredictable!”

Jehan pouts at him. _Pouts_. Courfeyrac can`t hold back a smile.

“You can trust me”, Jehan says in a low voice. He sounds almost sober now, “You know I can keep a secret.”

It's true. Courfeyrac knows.

“Come on! I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Not here, though. The booze here is thin like that lace shirt of yours.”

“I threw it away. No need to remind me,” says Jehan, scoffing, “Tell me and we'll go elsewhere.”

Courfeyrac shakes his head.

“Not _elsewhere_. To Le Chat Vert.”

“Fine. Will you stop torturing me?”

“Alright,” Courfeyrac takes a deep breath, “Enjolras is in love with Grantaire.”

Jehan nearly falls off his chair.

“What?!”

“He told me over breakfast a couple days ago. He was devastated. He was all like ‘Emotions. Does. Not. Compute.’”

“Sounds like him,” chuckles Jehan, “Does he know Grantaire's been pining for him for forever?”

“Well, he asked me if Grantaire could possibly feel the same way.”

“And what did you say?”

Courfeyrac grins.

“I just told him to confess and see how the cookie crumbles.”

“You could’ve just told him!”

Courfeyrac lets out a theatrical sigh.

“I couldn’t. He was so scared. So insecure. It was hilarious.”

Jehan shakes his head, laughing.

“You are the worst!”

“And yet you’re buying me a drink!”

 

The air outside is warm and welcoming – a telltale sign that summer is on its way. Courfeyrac loves Paris at night, when it truly becomes The City of Lights.

Most of all he loves the city on the nights like this, when he and Jehan go on their monthly nighttime adventures. Sometimes they start with Jehan's poetry readings, like today, sometimes they simply go bar-hopping. And sometimes they are roaming around the city, getting drunk on cheap wine and singing whatever comes to mind at the top of their lungs. Most of all he loves these nights for letting him see Jehan let go. Jehan free of his insecurities and anxiety is a beautiful sight.

This tradition started out a long time ago. It traces back to the night they first met. Courfeyrac saw Jehan on the other side of a bar, looking lost and confused. At the time, Courfeyrac was fresh out of boarding school, going through lover after lover. He had an eye for beautiful people, so of course Jehan with his gentle picturesque looks caught his eye. He looked so out of place in the dark bar, like a flower in the middle of a swamp. So, naturally, Courfeyrac had to rescue him.

“Are you a magician?”, he said, coming closer to the guy, “Because when I look at you everyone else disappears.”

The guy turned to Courfeyrac. Oh, if looks could kill.

“Seriously? You actually thought this would work?”

Courfeyrac gave him his signature grin.

“I wasn’t really thinking. Just hoping.”

All he got in response was an eye roll, followed by a scoff.

“Perhaps I’m so smitten that I can't think of a better line.”

The guy raised his eyebrow.

“Smitten? You don’t even know me!”

“I’d love to _get_ to know you.”

Courfeyrac was speaking honestly. He was intrigued by the guy. It wasn’t just his beauty, though he was indeed very good looking. The guy reminded Courfeyrac of illustrations in a fairytale book, the one he adored as a child. There was something in the way he moved, like he was restrained. As cheesy as it sounds, Courfeyrac really wanted to set him free.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he heard himself ask.

The guy let out a yielding sigh.

“Whiskey. Neat.”

“Be right back.”

Upon his return Courfeyrac was met with a nod and a tiny smile. A small victory, but it  made him feel warmth spreading in his chest.

“So”, he began, carefully, “Will you give me your name?”

The guy smiled, taking a sip from his glass.

“I will not give you my name,” Courfeyrac felt his heart drop, “But I will tell it. I’m Jean Prouvaire.”

“Courfeyrac.”

They shook hands.

“So, Jean Prouvaire, how did you end up here?”

The guy cleared his throat.

“I’m new to the city. So I guess I’m getting acquainted with Paris."

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrow.

“In a bar?"

Even in a deemed light, Courfeyrac could tell Prouvaire was blushing.

“I’ve heard they have an open mic night and decided to come.”

“Oh. Did you perform?”

Prouvaire lowered his eyes.

“No, I chickened out. I’ve never- I write poetry, but I’ve never really performed with it.”

“You have stage fright or something?”

“Something like that”, Prouvaire finished his drink, “Sorry I lashed out earlier. I’m in a bad mood.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” Courfeyrac was met with a glare, “No! I don’t mean it like that, I swear! Do you want to go for a walk?”

Prouvaire’s eyes softened.

“I’m new to the city too, by the way. So we could go, you know, exploring. Paris is beautiful at night.”

Prouvaire bit his lip, considering. Courfeyrac to his own surprise found himself needing him to say yes. He held his breath in anticipation.

“Yes”, finally said Prouvaire, and Courfeyrac could breathe again.

The night was beautiful. Courfeyrac couldn’t stop smiling as he walked through the city streets with Jean Prouvaire by his side. They did not hold hands, but they were walking so close, their hands would brush from time to time. And somehow it was more thrilling and intimate than any kiss Courfeyrac's ever gotten.

It was a strange feeling. Courfeyrac had always been able to find himself company. He had the good looks and the charm, and, most importantly, he knew it. He knew he could charm anyone and so he did. But lately it had been getting old. Those boys with no names and girls with no faces did not feel like they used to.

He gave away his warmth but there was nothing to replace it. Everybody wanted him, but Courfeyrac wanted something else. He wanted to fall in love. It was such an easy thing, but it seemed impossible.

Well, not that impossible now that this guy in mismatched clothes was walking next to him. A faint smell of roses hung in the air. It was the smell of new beginnings.

“So, are you just visiting Paris or did you move here?”, asked Courfeyrac as they navigated through the narrow streets.

Jean’s hand brushed his again. It felt electric.

“Well, my classes in the Sorbonne start in a month. So I’ll be here for a while. What about you?”

“You’re going to the Sorbonne? So am I!”

Jean Prouvaire gave him a warm smile.

“Interesting coincidence.”

 

They bought a cheap bottle of wine in some tiny shop and ran around, drinking and singing. Jean Prouvaire had a lovely voice. His speaking voice was soft and quiet, but his singing was powerful.

“You should’ve gotten onstage!”, Coudfeyrac told him, “You'd kill it!”

“It would kill me first,” Prouvaire took a swing from the bottle and licked his lips,  “I’ve got terrible anxiety.”

“Would it help if you had someone to support you?” Courfeyrac stepped closer and took the bottle from Jean Prouvaire. If his fingers lingered over the other guy's for a second, it wasn’t on purpose. Definitely not.

“Maybe it would. But I don’t really have any friends in the city.”

“Well, you have me.”

“You?”

“Me.”

“We've just met!”

Courfeyrac leaned his head.

“But you like me.”

Even in the moonlight he could tell that Prouvaire was blushing.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Well, you did come here with me. And you’re not stepping away. I guess-"

He was interrupted by Jean Prouvaire, who grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a kiss. It was a short kiss, but it was enough to send shiver all over his body. Prouvaire pulled away, breathing heavily, with eyes wide open. Courfeyrac did not let him go. He put his arms around Prouvaire's waist and pressed their foreheads together.

“It's alright”, he whispered, “I like you too.”

And so they went into the night, dancing in the streets of Paris, drunk on wine and each other. This is how the next few weeks gone by. With nothing else to do, Coufeyrac and Prouvaire – who’s adopted a medieval _Jehan_ as his nom de plume, spent the summer together. They had nothing to do during the days, so they would wander around aimlessly, getting to know the city. Jehan found the courage to start reading his poetry onstage – before performing, he would read his new material to Courfeyrac over a cup of coffee – and Courfeyrac was always there, watching with a proud smile. And the nights they would spend in one of their apartments, getting to know each other better in every away. They would fight sometimes, for both of them had a flair for dramatics, but neither of them could stay mad for a long time. They would spend a day apart and then find each other again in one of their usual places.

Like all good things, it had to end. In the middle of August the two of them came to a conclusion that it would be better for them to separate. Well, they fought, they kissed, they fought again – then one of them (Courfeyrac remembers it to be Jehan) suggested they end things. And then the other (Courfeyrac remembered it to be himself) agreed.

He mopped around for a day or so. By the time Enjolras and Combeferre – his best friends from the boarding school – arrived in Paris, Courfeyrac was back to his usual antics of touch-and-go romances.

 

Jehan and him are friends now, they met again in the Sorbonne and reconciled. They still have fondness for one another, and Courfeyrac always waits for their nights out with anticipation. He has Combeferre now, whom he loves dearly. Yet a part of him still looks at Jehan and wonders what could have been.

It's strange. He’s never been inclined to melancholy.

“Is something wrong?”, Jehan’s voice doesn’t let Courfeyrac drown in his thoughts.

Courfeyrac shakes his head.

“I’m fine.”

“ _Fine_?”

“Fine”, Courfeyrac clears his throat, “It's been a busy week, that’s all.”

Jehan puts a hand on his shoulder.

“We can have an early night, if you want to.”

“What I want is to have fun”, says Courfeyrac, covering Jehan's hand with his, “You aren’t going to get out of buying me a drink, _Prouvaire._ ”

 

Le Chat Vert is a great place, despite its stupid name. And like all good places, it's packed with people. The queue to the bar is insane. But the place is full of life, and this what matters the most. Courfeyrac loves to be surrounded by people, this is what makes him feel alive.

"You weren't exaggerating when you said this place is popular", says Jehan, leaning so close, that his lips almost touches Courfeyrac's ear, "I kind of like it."

“Really? I thought you were all about those places in a middle of nowhere with two and a half regular patrons!”

“Ha ha”, Jehan's tone is deadpan, but the corners of his lips rise, “I may be more into the underground culture, but I can appreciate a nice interior design.”

“Admit it, you think it would look better with some sculls and tapestries.”

“One more word and that drink I’ve promised you will go straight to your face”, says Jehan, nudging him.

Soon they manage to get their drinks and steal a table from under the nose of some couple.

“Finders keepers", mouths Courfeyrac apologetically, not feeling sorry at all.

“And people say you are the nice one”, Jehan chuckles and tries his drink, “You were right. This stuff is good.”

“Not a drop of water in these glasses”, agrees Courfeyrac, “Cheers!”

Some local band comes on stage and starts playing. They’re marginally good.

“Their sound is nice”, says Jehan thoughtfully, “But their lyrics are lousy.”

Courfeyrac listens closely.

“You’re right. But everyone's poetry's lousy compared to yours.”

“You sly dog!”, Jehan kicks him under the table, “I’m going to tell Combeferre! But thank you.”

The band finishes the first song and starts another. It is not as good, but the public seems to like it. A loud cheer goes through the room.

“How is he, by the way?”, Jehan almost shouts.

“Who?”

“Combeferre!”

Courfeyrac takes a deep breath.

“I don’t know. I mean, he seems fine, on the outside. He always does.”

“But…”

“But I’ve been feeling weird. He feels – I don’t know – distant? It's like something’s bothering him.”

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“I have. You know I’m all about direct approach. I asked him over dinner, but he said everything is fine.”

Jehan shrugs.

“Maybe he is tired. He’s studying medicine, it’s hard.”

“Joly's studying medicine too. And he’s alright.”

Jehan raises an eyebrow.

“Is he, though?”

“He's got two lovers, he’s doing better than all of us!”

“Good point!”

They laugh in unison.

“How is your love life going?”, asks Courfeyrac.

Jehan raises an eyebrow.

“Not as good as Joly's.”

“Oh, come on! I’ve told you about Combeferre.”

“About your imaginary problems with Combeferre.”

“Not imaginary!”

“Whatever. He loves you.”

“What if he doesn’t anymore?”

“Why would he stop?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’ve become annoying.”

“You’ve always been annoying.”

“Jehan!”

Jehan takes a sip of whiskey and runs his tongue over his lips.

“Listen”, he takes Courfeyrac's hands in his. Jehan's hands are cold. They're always cold no matter what season it is. It feels nice. “Courfeyrac, you are a great guy and an amazing friend. We love you – everybody loves you, most of all Combeferre. And you are smart and brave and you should talk to your boyfriend if you feel like something’s wrong.”

“Damn”, breathes out Courfeyrac, “Ever thought about becoming a motivational speaker?”

Jehan just smiles and squeezes his hands.

“Better now?”

“Much better.”

“Good. I’m going to get us another round.”

 Courfeyrac watches Jehan leave and smiles to himself.

 

Their reunion in the university was…awkward. Courfeyrac was walking down a hall with Combeferre and Enjolras. They were in a middle of an intense discussion, as per usual. Courfeyrac was so busy talking that he bumped into someone. There was a loud thud and a muffled curse. The next thing he knew he has on the floor and in front of him was Jehan Prouvaire, who had slammed the door of his apartment and disappeared from his life just a couple weeks before that day. Courfeyrac knew they could meet again, but he tried not to think about it.

Jehan looked at him, his bright green eyes open wide. They stared at each other for a few moments. Courfeyrac came back to his senses first.

“Here”, he picked up some books from the floor and handed him to Jehan.

“Thanks”, Jehan gave him a weak smile and walked away. Well, more like fled.

Courfeyrac got up and turned back to his friends. Both of them were frozen with startled expressions on their faces.

“What?”, Courfeyrac blinked.

“Are you feeling well?”, asked Enjolras.

“I am. Why?”

“Well, it was a textbook meet cute. Right there”, Combeferre gestured to the floor, “And you just let the guy go.”

Courfeyrac felt tension building up in his body. He could tell them about his relationship with Jehan, say it had been a light summer fling that came and went. But it had not been light and it had not been a fling. And it still hurt. Not that Courfeyrac would ever admit it.

So he didn’t tell them. He just shrugged, and the conversation resumed.

A week after that, Courfeyrac saw Jehan again in the library. He was sitting at the table, surrounded by old books and notes. And a cup of coffee – black with three spoons of sugar, Courfeyrac knew it too well. Jehan looked so strange yet familiar. He was so close yet so far away.

Courfeyrac was nervous, and he hated it. _Nervous_ did not suit him. _Nervous_ was not his thing. But it had to do for now. Courfeyrac took a deep breath, and took a sit next to the poet.

Jehan was too immersed in his books to notice him. Courfeyrac cleared his throat.

No reaction.

“Hi", he said then, keeping his eyes on Jehan.

Jehan raises his eyes from the book.

“Hi", he said in a familiar soft voice.

Courfeyrac felt himself smiling.

“I see nothing has changed”, he nodded at the books.

“Well, it hasn’t been that long.”

“It felt like forever”, honesty was easy with Jehan. That was the major difference from any fling – there were no lies, no games between the two of them. Well, except for some light playfulness every now and then.

Jehan's eyes were green like freshly cut grass. Courfeyrac had missed those eyes. He had missed sitting opposite Jehan, talking to him. He had missed Jehan. It was a bit cruel, but he wished to hear Jehan had missed him too.

“For me, too", Jehan’s voice was almost a whisper, but Courfeyrac caught every word, “I’ve missed you.”

Courfeyrac felt all the pressure go away at once. He gave Jehan his brightest smile.

“I’ve missed you too!”, he grabbed Jehan's hands, “I thought you’d never want to talk to me again.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. It was me-"

“No, it’s on me. I’m too dramatic.”

Jehan laughed.

“This is not a competition. Let’s just say we both screwed up and we're both sorry.”

“And we both want to start again?”, Courfeyrac suggested, hopefully, “I don’t mean we should get back together, but I’d love to spend time with you.”

Jehan lowered his eyes.

“There’s a poetry reading on campus. This Friday at eight. I’m going to perform and I’d love to see a familiar face in the audience.”

“I will be there!”, said Courfeyrac and kissed Jehan's hand, “I’m always happy to support a friend.”

The smile that Jehan gave him could light up the entire room.

“Now, _friend_ , do you mind if I go back to my essay?”

 

“Here's your drink”, Jehan handles Courfeyrac another glass, “And look who I’ve found!”

On Jehan's left stands Grantaire, with his usual messy curls and the ever present light stubble (Courfeyrac has always been secretly jealous of it). Grantaire is wearing a nice black shirt with no wrinkles or splashes of paint in sight. This is what catches Courfeyrac's eye.

“Look at you, R!”, says Courfeyrac as he stands up to give Grantaire a hug, “If I were not taken, I’d be all over _this_!”

“Oh, calm down, or I`ll tell Combeferre!”, Jehan laughs and turns his attention back to Grantaire, “He’s right, though, you look great.”

“Thanks”, says Grantaire, beaming.

“We’re doing our usual bar-hopping. Will you join us?”

“I’d love to, but I’m actually waiting for my date.”

“Oh", says Courfeyrac, “ _Oh!_ Someone special?”

Grantaire nods.

“We’ll leave you to it, but you have to tell us everything!”, says Jehan.

“Everything!”

“Well, not _everything_.”

Grantaire laughs.

“Will do. Have fun you two!”

“Break a leg!”, says Jehan as Courfeyrac mouths ‘ _Everything’._

They watch Grantaire leave.

“Well, that's…”

“A catastrophe”, breathes out Courfeyrac.

“What? Why?”

"Grantaire has a date."

"And he's looking damn good while he's at it. What's the- _Oh_!"

"Yeah."

«Damn it! He's moving on.»

«While Enjolras is getting ready to confess to him», finishes Courfeyrac.

"Maybe he has confessed already? Maybe he is the date?"

"They would've told us! Do you think Grantaire'd be able to keep his mouth shut?"

«Yeah, Enjolras probably chickened out. He's bad at feelings.»

"The worst."

More people arrive at the bar. It's getting hard to breathe.

"I think it's time to hop to the next place", says Courfeyrac. Jehan nods.

They go outside. Courfeyrac shivers as the fresh night air touches his skin.

"Much better."

Jehan hums in agreement.

"We should tell Enjolras."

Courfeyrac doesn't get it at first. There's too much going on in his mind.

"About Grantaire», reminds Jehan, «So it doesn't catch him off guard."

"But Grantaire's still _in_ _love_ with him."

"Yeah, but if he's decided to move on, Enjorlas's confession can mess it up."

"You think they shouldn't be together?"

Jehan shakes his head.

"It is not for me or for you to decide, but if the time is wrong, it is better if they stay apart."

"They're both intense", agrees Courfeyrac, "Maybe they should grow up first."

:Yeah. The right thing at the wrong time can be…wrong. Damn, I'm drunk."

They laugh.

"Let's walk it off. The night is still young."

"It is", says Jehan absentmindedly and then grabs Courfeyrac's shoulder, "Look at the moon, it's huge!"

Jehan takes Courfeyrac's hand.

"We should dance!"

"Right here?"

"Yes. In the moonlight. It'll bring us good fortune."

Courfeyrac laughs.

"You've just made it up!"

Jehan rolls his eyes.

"Humor me, will you? I've bought you drinks."

"All men are the same!", exclaims Courfeyrac theatrically, "They buy you drinks and then hold it against you."

He takes Jehan's hand and leands them to waltz.

"Well, at least those ballroom dancing lessons are paying off."

"I keep forgetting how posh you are, _de Courfeyrac"_ , chuckles Jehan.

Courfeyrac scoffs.

"I shouldnt have told you!", Jehan laughs and let's his head fall on Courfeyrac's shoulder. "It's my family that's posh. I'm nothing like them."

"I know. And just Courfeyrac sounds much better."

"Thank you."

They dance in silence, no longer waltzing, just swaying to nonexistent music. It's nice. No, that is a wrong word. It feels amazing and so _right_. Courfeyrac knows he's walking on a thin line. One wrong step and he'll ruin something good and hurt two people he loves. His heart skips a beat at the thought. There's no point in lying to himself. He still loves Jehan, as well as Combeferre. And he doesn't want to, and wouldn't bear losing either of them.

Jehan seems to feel his body tense, so he pulls away.

"Thanks for the dance", Jehan gives him a small smile. "Look, I know we're bar-hopping, but can we just go for a walk instead? I don't think I can handle another glass."

"Sure."

It is a bit of a déjà vu, but things have changed since that first  summer. Courfeyrac has matured since then,  he's in a serious relationship and Jehan is one of his closest friends. He wonders if the things would change in a couple of years. After the university, how many of his friends will stay in Paris? Will some of them disappear from the radar forever? Courfeyrac hates losing people, The mere thought makes him nauseous.

“Isn't nighttime just the best?”, Jehan stares at the moon with a wistful smile. Courfeyrac loves this smile. It's troubling, just how much he loves.

Don’t cross the line, he tells himself. Don’t mess everything up.

“Something’s bothering you.”

“No. I’m fine.”

“That wasn’t a question”.

That smile again. Focus, Courfeyrac, focus.

“I am…just worried about Enjolras.”

Enjolras. Yes. Perfect.

“I mean, should we tell him about Grantaire dating someone?”

“Is it really our business? Plus, Grantaire was dating before. It didn’t last.”

“Did you see him there? He was _beaming_ , Jehan.”

“And he looked pretty good.”

“He looked great!”

Jehan laughs.

“Alright, I get it. Stop making me jealous!”

Courfeyrac lets out a hysterical laughter. When did he become so bad at acting. He used to be the star of the drama club!

“I just don’t want to see Jojo heartbroken.”

“One day he’s going to kill you for this nickname.”

“It'll be worth it. Will you mourn me?»

"Of course. I'll dedicate my first poetry book to you."

"You could still dedicate it to me while I'm alive!"

"No way! You'll become insufferable. Well, more insufferable."

Courfeyrac shoves him lightly.

"How dare you! I'm a delight."

"If you say so", says Jehan, yawning.

"What is it? Are you tired?"

"I've been working on something all night. It's kind of a pet project."

"Sounds promising."

Jehan smiles and yawns again.

"Should we get you home?"

"Yes, please! I'm practically sleepwalking."

 

By the time they reach Jehan's building, the poet can barely keep his eyes open.

"Thanks for bringing me home», he says softly, "You're a great friend, Courfeyrac."

"Thanks. Now go get some sleep."

Jehan opens the front door and then turns back to Courfeyrac.

"Don't worry about R and Enjolras. They'll figure it out on their own."

"I know."

«And you should take Combeferre on a date.»

"I know. Go to bed!"

Jehan laughs.

"Goodnight, Courfeyrac."

"Goodnight."

Courfeyrac watches Jehan disappear behind the door. He turns away with a smile. All is well. The line remains intact and his poor heart can rest for a while.

His life is a mess.

Courfeyrac reaches his building. He looks up. Enjolras occupies an apartment right above his. Enjolras barely ever sleeps, so Courfeyrac is used to see the light coming out from his windows no matter how late it is.

There it is, as usual. Courfeyrac has too much on his mind to sleep and he doesn't feel like being alone right now. So, naturally, he goes straight to Enjolras's.

Enjolras takes some time to open the door. His t-shirt is covered in wrinkles, his golden curls are tangled. And he doesn't look too happy to see his best friend (well, one of his best friends, but who needs details).

"Courfeyrac? What are you doing here?"

"I've been, well, out. And then I came back. Saw the light in your window and thought I'd pay you a visit."

"At four in the morning?"

"Time is an illusion."

That is one of Grantaire's favorite places. Courfeyrac can see the corners of his friend's lips lift. Ohm this boy is smitten.

"Sorry, now is not the good time. I'm kind of…occupied."

"Occupied?"

"Yeah, you know, writing an essay for my French literature class. Left it for the last moment, as always."

Courfeyrac raises his eyebrow.

"Don't tell Combeferre", Enjolras gives him a forced smile.

"Didn't you finish that course last semester?".

Enjolras doesn't have to answer. His blushing cheeks give him away.

"Don't tell me there's someone else in your apartment."

The blush becomes brighter. The hair and the t-shirt suddenly make sense.

"Oh my god you have someone in your apartment!"

Did he fall asleep on his way home? He's tempted to pinch himself, just to make sure.

"What's going on?", a familiar voice comes out of Enjolras's apartment.

The voice is followed by a very familiar face.

Grantaire's hair is just as messed up as Enjolras's, and he's managed to lose his nice shirt somewhere between the last time Courfeyrac saw him and this very moment. Courfeyrac's pretty sure he knows where that shirt is right now.

Courfeyrac opens his mouth, but no words come to mind. He takes  deep breath while Enjolras and Grantaire watch him in silence.

"Well, right now I'm in no way capable to deal with _this"_ , he gestures between his friends, "But…congratulations. I'm going to go to my place. Have fun, kids!"

"Goodnight!", say Enjolras and Grantaire in unison.

 

Courfeyrac falls on his bed, not bothering to undress. What a crazy night. He knows none of his troubles will go away in the morning, but at least he'll face them with a fresh face. And dignity, of course.

He's always been great at prioritizing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it seems like this verse is growing. I wonder where it`ll go...
> 
> (If you're seeing some hints of a future Ferre/Courf/Jehan... you're not wrong)
> 
> Thanks for reading my fic, comments are always welcome! <3  
> 


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